Sea Witch Rising

by Sarah Henning

  I shoot from the chair to standing, the blanket across my lap spilling from my legs. Will looks up from his spot on the rocking chair, trance broken, concern in the slant of his eyes. I run to Katrine’s room for a cloak. It’s not raining, but the cloak is necessary to allow me to leave the house with the nightgown but without questions. I drop a small cobalt bottle and stopper from one of Katrine’s chests in the cloak’s pocket, fingers shaking with excitement. I know exactly what to do.

  Will is on his feet as I exit Katrine’s room. The fire reflecting softly on their sharp expressions, Sofie and Agnata whisper between each other, drawing into themselves—suspicious that I’ve gone moon-crazy like last night.

  When I step to the door, their eyes follow, and Will physically does. “Can I come with you?”

  My heart stumbles inside my chest at the meaning behind that simple question. He knows he’s not asking for an invitation to stroll under the stars. And yet he still wants to come.

  “Of course,” I say.

  Will doesn’t grab a cloak, a jacket, or anything else—only my hand. We step into a night much like the last one, the day’s sun a distant memory as clouds hover low in the sky, the air damp enough to collect in the hollows under our eyes. Like the morning that Alia died, we walk in silence. This time, I lead him, tugging him along by the crook of his fingers. The wind whips the hair off my face with each step closer to the beach.

  At the water’s edge, the waves are furious. Frothing. Wicked. They toss themselves against the sands, against the rocks dotting the shore as a warning call. The bugle through the forest before the attack.

  The breeze whips color into our cheeks, chins, and noses as we walk along—brisker than it should be for September, but Will doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t let go of my hand. He just keeps walking.

  The sea witch might have been right when she assumed I didn’t believe in love. I’m not sure I believe in it now. But what I do believe is that I have a connection with this boy that won’t die in this world or the one I’m from. No matter what’s to come.

  After a long while, we come upon two sturdy rocks on the dry beach, flat like tables and paired together as if they’re meant for us.

  I take a seat on the nearest one, its surface slick with sea spray and dew that soaks into my cloak on contact. Will squats on the other, his long legs coming up at a sharp angle in front of him, knees to the shrouded sky.

  “What needs to be done for you to go home?”

  I squeeze his hand and then disentangle our fingers, immediately sorry that I must.

  Will cups his hands together and blows warm breath into them, eyes on me as I draw the nightgown out of my cloak, the tiny glass bottle too.

  “The spell that made me human was uttered by the famed sea witch—the one who saved Niklas’s grandfather from death.” Will nods, knowing the story like everyone else. “The spell required four items from me for my return: Niklas’s ring, his life, his dying blood on my feet, and the knife that killed him.”

  I can’t believe I’m telling him this any more than I can believe I shared my true identity as a merprincess, but Will listens calmly, his chin propped on his knuckles, his blue eyes watching silently as though nothing can surprise him.

  “I have the ring, and the knife has hopefully gone back to the sea witch, so now I have to retrieve the blood,” I say, holding up the nightgown. I don’t want to tell him about the spell I must offer. The uncertainty of Urda’s response is too much to explain right now. He believes that I and my magic can do anything. And he’ll need that confidence in magic if he’s to have any chance at destroying the U-boats.

  “What did Alia need?” he asks. “Was she here to kill him? That whole time? I mean, I really believed she was in love with him.”

  “She did love him,” I say immediately. It’s important to me that much is understood. “She never intended to kill him—she saved him this summer when he nearly drowned with his brothers and father. Alia was sure he’d recognize her in an instant and marry her on the spot when she came ashore as human, that the love in his heart would be enough to satisfy the spell that would have kept her alive. He adored her, but he didn’t love her, and so . . .”

  Will’s voice drops. “And so the only way for her to survive was to kill him, like the legend of Annemette.”

  “Yes. Stabbed through with a specific knife, his blood dripping upon our toes, but we never got to that part.”

  Will eyes the nightgown. “And that’s his blood, then?” I nod. “And if it doesn’t work, you’ll be human forever?”

  Inhaling a deep breath of the thick salt air, I nod again. “Those were the terms of my exchange.”

  I spread the nightgown across my knees, the red-black smear angry as it faces the moon. The amethyst I’ve used so successfully sits heavy in my palm, the little bottle in the other, shining like midnight. I pop the cork and hand it to Will for safekeeping.

  Then I drive my feet into the sand, the earth fast to my soles, meeting my magic, holding tight to the amethyst and my intentions.

  “Slita sasí bló∂.” Rend this blood.

  Shimmer and shine, the stain quivers deep within the ruined fabric.

  “Slita sasí bló∂,” I command again.

  The massive smear is no longer a monolith. It separates and shifts.

  “Slita sasí bló∂.”

  Finally, finally, the droplets pull and lift, evaporating into the air in a red mist.

  “Hálmr, lœkr.”

  The mist clings to itself, creating a stream thinner than the pencil tip Will used to mark our plan on the map.

  “Efna.”

  I hold the bottle straight under the tip of the stream, and it goes right in, filling it straight to the top. Will hands me the cork, and I stop the vial.

  The nightgown is again perfectly snow white, the lace as delicate as a butterfly wing, though I doubt Sofie will want it.

  “Runa . . . you’re not going to go and do it now, are you?” Will asks, panicked.

  “Oh! No. No. Will, of course not.” I stand, grip tight on the bottle, my other hand reaching for his. “But I would like some time to think, if you’ll leave me a moment.”

  Will stands with me, a reluctance in the speed. His eyes narrow. “You’ll say good-bye?”

  “I promise I’ll wake you.” I slip the bottle into my pocket and press both hands to his chest. Strong and rich, his heartbeat thumps into my palms.

  He takes my hands in his. Warm and rough, his skin is there and then it’s gone, the nightgown in his hand, rustling in the wind off the sea as he walks away.

  I sit again on the rock and watch the waves. They break and burst, curl and sweep, churning, turning, agitated.

  “Hello, Father.”

  I wish if I could concentrate enough, my sisters would just appear. Pop above the surf, something between us telling them exactly where I am at this very moment. And what I must decide. I suppose a summoning spell might do that, even at this distance. But love them as I may, Eydis, Ola, and Signy are not Alia. We don’t have the same connection, and we never will.

  My thumb grazes the bottle cork. I should just do it. Spare myself what will surely be more than the dull pain in my gut that’s festered since I realized I could return to the sea, leaving this all behind. How is it possible to miss something you barely know? Or someone?

  I can tell myself that this pain is a residual effect of Alia’s absence. That I haven’t had time to process what happened. To truly accept it. But that’s not true. The pain I feel for Alia is different. I meant it when I told the sea witch that it felt like an arm had been ripped from my body with Alia gone. And I accept that I may never feel whole again, living with the phantom pain of her holding fast to whatever body I’m in for the remainder of my days.

  “Oh, Alia,” I say to the waves. I stand and walk straight to them, careful to remove Katrine’s shoes this time.

  Then I dip my toes into the water. I pretend Alia’s there in the gurgling bubbles. Soa
king into my skin with a chill of truth.

  Though she didn’t say them aloud, Alia’s words rumble through my mind in the voice that was once hers.

  There’s no more balance.

  But by working with the few remaining witches on land, I can help. I can make a difference. I can restore the balance—restore Father to the amount of power he can handle.

  There really is so much I can do here.

  And what will happen if I make it home?

  After I make my offer of ríkifjor seeds to Urda, there will only be a handful left. Enough to sustain him for a day.

  A day.

  And I’ll need to save a few to get another crop going if the rest of the plants have died. He won’t be pleased, and his impatience—and the physical toll that goes along with it—won’t be good for anyone.

  If I survive that first planting, it’s very easy to see the remainder of my life in service to the crown. Chained to the tower, not to be trusted with any hint of freedom. Or maybe, chained in plain sight to the ríkifjor crop—sleeping among their ghost-white blooms.

  No adventure. No life beyond duty.

  And who does it help besides him?

  My people? Only if his threats of war cease. Only if the serum staves off his anger, entitlement, thirst. But even then, maybe not. If the U-boats appear en masse, we’ll be in even greater danger. We can destroy these, destroy the program, but the Germans already have these boats. They’re in the water, and these aren’t the only boats being made. They’re just the ones closest to the sea kingdom. To home.

  There’s no telling how long they’ll be a threat.

  The mines too.

  Or how long Father will use the humans’ actions to sow the seeds of his war as he grows stronger on my ríkifjor. So strong that there’s nothing left for him to do but attack. Out of boredom, or greed, or recklessness. No matter what choice I make, there are no guarantees.

  “Good night, Alia,” I tell the water kissing my toes.

  Then I turn and walk back toward the safe house, Katrine’s shoes and stockings in one hand, the other holding tight to the bottle in my pocket.

  As I come to the little hill that leads down to the beach, voices whisper across the wind. Intuition bends my spine and crouches my legs, until I’m pressed to the dune, listening over the thump thump thump of my heart pounding in my ears.

  “When do you strike?” asks a man or boy, it’s hard to tell. He speaks in an accent that reminds me of Sofie’s father.

  “Broad daylight,” I hear a girl’s voice or maybe a woman’s say, low enough I don’t recognize it. “The warehouse will be up in flames before supper.”

  I press my face to the damp sand to stifle a gasp.

  Our plan is out.

  28

  Runa

  I STAY ON THE BEACH UNTIL THE VOICES AND FOOTSTEPS are long gone. Betrayal lays a thick track in my lungs, like an oil slick atop the sea surface, suffocating everything in its reach, as I stay motionless, tucked against the sand.

  I slip into the safe house at midnight, the firelight dying, as a traitor sleeps within.

  Though the door is tightly shut, Katrine’s snores echo from her bedroom. In the main room there’s just enough of a glow from the last embers to see the outline of the girls asleep on the floor. They lie side by side as they’ve done before, only Sofie’s books between them, the nightgown folded on top of her latest read.

  Will attempts to sleep, shoved up next to the door, waiting for my return. He shifts as I walk in, exhausted eyes following my movements across the room. The quilt I claimed as my bedroll last night is draped over a chair at the table. Throwing it around my shoulders, I go to him, sliding down the wall to the floor.

  There’s no surprise in Will’s eyes. He’s been expecting my good-bye. He thinks he knows what I’m going to say before the words are out—some excuse of being from other worlds, not belonging, it’s better this way.

  What I say instead is, “We need to talk.”

  Sleep does not come easily. It barely comes at all. Yet I wake before dawn, the sky still smoky with clouds but the light changing just enough beyond the shutters to prove the time.

  I put the kettle on, as Katrine has taught me to do, brewing water for tea. Mug hot and fragrant in my hands, I crack the shutters just enough to watch the sky change. Charcoal to iron to ash. It shifts like the tide, slowly, slowly, until suddenly it’s undeniably closer. In moments, the sea witch’s spell will no longer rule me.

  Tea finished and fingers shaking, I set the mug on the sill and fish a hand into the folds of my dress. Niklas’s ring, the ríkifjor seeds, and the glass bottle are mingled together in the same pocket, the amethyst lonesome on the other side. Fingers wrapped tightly around the cool glass, I draw it out.

  Even in the low light, it’s easy to see the line that delineates blood from air. Where one life ends and another begins. Or—where one journey ends and the old life returns.

  I stand there, sure in my legs, watching the sky change further. It’s now or never.

  I could run for it. Use these legs while I have them. Over the pasture, down the dunes, offer my spell and spill blood onto my feet with my toes in the sand. Testing Urda’s forgiveness, I could go home. Sow seeds. Do my part in making Father the most powerful being on the planet, hopes high that I alone could stave off a war.

  Or I could stay here. Make my own decisions. Do my part in another fight with people who need me for more than just what I can do for them—working together to end one war and halt another before it even begins.

  The ivory promise of day slips into a candlelight glow, breaking through the clouds, reaching for me. Calling me home.

  Across the room, Will stands.

  If I look at him now, my heart will rip right down the center and fall to the wayside, defunct. I don’t know how Alia made this choice so easily. How she could see her future clearly enough to leave us, knowing she could never return? Knowing what she was risking.

  Sunlight streams into my eyes, brilliant and blinding. I close them, letting it wash over me in painted lines through the shutters. The fire and fury I felt when drinking the witch’s brew returns. It blazes a scorched path through my skin, cauterizing every cell, the magic that once built me seared shut. Scar tissue collecting. Each inch of progress hollows me out, scrapes me clean, reforms what and who I am.

  When I open my eyes, I am a mermaid no more. A human made of blood and bones, no magic. But I can still wield it. Of that I am sure.

  “Runa?” Will takes a step toward me, tone unbelieving.

  I steel my heart, willing it to hold together. And then I look him right in the eyes and slip the bottle of blood back into my pocket.

  He comes to me, wraps me in close, and draws me into a cocoon of strong arms, soft cotton, a beating heart.

  “Thank you,” he whispers.

  As I press my face to the warmth of his chest, my first ever tears begin to fall.

  An hour later, our arms are coated in octopus ink.

  We’re dressed alike, in breeches and button-ups that I’ve spelled to be black as midnight, just as I did our dresses the night of Niklas’s murder. On top, we wear the sea-worn coats popular at the docks, pilfered and doctored from what Katrine had available in her trunks. With any luck, they’ll give us the ability to hide in plain sight.

  Our rucksacks are packed with more ink and gemstones, plus weapons of a more traditional kind—knives, matches, guns, and ammunition.

  Will has taught me how to load the pistol I took from the guard, though the risk was too great to show me how to shoot it. I don’t plan on using it, but if I have to, I hope it works.

  We say our good-byes to Katrine, and then it’s time. As a team, we exit the safe house into the denim light, clouds hanging low.

  “Meet you at the checkpoint,” Sofie says, green eyes lit with determination and certainty as Agnata stands at her side, much less talented at hiding the nerves within her.

  Will and I nod, and then
Sofie and Agnata turn for Lille Bjerg Pass. Shoulders brushing, Will and I turn for the sea.

  When the other girls are gone, I slip Niklas’s ring out of my pocket and onto my right hand. Sofie may not like it, but even though it’s no longer needed to return to the sea, I need this ring as a reminder of the past. Of Alia. Her sacrifices. Why I’m still here. And what I’m about to do. I’ll take the risk of being a target of guards for all that.

  The miles pass quickly as we walk along where the pasture meets the shoreline, up and up until there’s a drop as tall as the spires of Øldenburg Castle between us and the ocean below. Our route is longer and less direct than the one Sofie and Agnata are taking through the mountains, but we should arrive at the same time, their path more technical with the changing terrain, while we skirt the edge of the mountain range.

  When I confirmed I would participate, we’d decided to hedge our bets and split up, as the four of us together would be much easier to detect. Slipping through the waking town and down to the docks in pairs would be safer.

  The miles pass quickly. Will and I are able to walk in silence together without it stretching the space between us into something awkward. I like the quiet moments with him, where we can be in our own heads, existing but together. Like the night before, his eyes drift into the middle distance. Practicing the script, the moves, the spells. It makes me smile more than it should.

  “Don’t fret, William Jensen. Your rebellion is perfectly choreographed.”

  His eyes come back to the here and now. “Choreography is one thing. Execution is quite another.”

  My vision snags on Niklas’s ring. Don’t I know it.

  For the first time this trip, Will’s fingers find mine as he cuts in front of me to lead us to a set of grown-over switchbacks trailing down the cliff to the beach below. As he traces our path along the spine of the shore, I realize this slip of beach will take us past the channel into the Øldenburg Castle cove, with its marble balcony and memories.